she who waited
by mildlyholmes
Summary: Little by little, Clara finds out about his Amelia.


**A/N: I needed to upload this for a while now. It's been up in my drafts, just sitting there, unfinished, before I saw it today and decided to write the rest of it. In the light of Matt Smith leaving, I had to publish this. Because even though the idea of Clara and Eleven together is great, I think that his great love for this regeneration is Amy. Always Amy. **

* * *

Little by little, Clara finds out about his Amelia.

* * *

Of course, the first sign is the glasses. They're always with him, somehow - perched on his nose, tucked in his pocket. He knows that she notices he doesn't need them - his eyesight is sharp and captures every little detail of the room they're in. He always knows where the bathroom is when she's persuaded him to stop by a shopping centre for some ice-cream; he always notices where her coat is when she seems to have misplaced it. So how come this man - this wonderful, secretive man - uses reading glasses?

They're sitting in the library one day, reading in silence. She's curled up in an armchair by the fire, and he's lying on the long (yet very short) sofa, his limbs awkwardly hanging off the edges. The only sound is the crackling fire, popping and toasty warm. Clara's got a book in her hands, but she's really just looking at him, the question on the edge of her tongue.

"Why do you do that?"

The Doctor lowers the book from his eyes, his eyes asking her a question. His usually gelled-up hair is messed up, and he's only got his waistcoat on. "Do what?" he asks.

She gives up on reading and closes her book on her lap. Her little red shawl slips off her shoulders as she leans forward, resting her chin on her palm. "Wear those glasses," she says.

He fidgets uncomfortably, but otherwise doesn't give any indication that anything is wrong. "I have bad eyesight," he shrugs.

Clara raises her eyebrows, daring him to lie to her. "Your eyesight is perfectly sharp, and you know it," she tells him, and he sighs in defeat, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. "You always have them with you," she points out. "Always in your coat, or hanging off your pocket, or on your face. You misplace your screwdriver all the time, but you never seem to lose these glasses."

The Doctor cracks a smile and gives a soft chuckle. "Clara Oswald, you are sharp," he murmurs softly and she just catches it. He sits up, hair flopping over his forehead. "I... They're my favourite pair," he shrugs again, and she knows for sure that he's lying now.

She gives him a look. "You could have traded those in instead of my mother's ring," she says hardly. "What's so special about that pair?"

He looks up at her at that, and knows that he can't avoid her this time. "This," he tells her, sitting straight and holding the glasses in his hand, "belonged to a friend of mine." He twists and turns the glasses in his hands, a faint show of a smile on his lips.

Clara doesn't say anything and simply watches him. He stares at the glasses and it looks like he's staring at something precious, something so special even the entire universe wouldn't make up for it. He turns it around and scratches the little brand mark, letting out a small - but painful - laugh.

She wants to push it further - and she would have, after he didn't respond to her - but she just feels like she shouldn't. So she clears her throat and stands up, holding her book against her stomach. "I'm going to make some tea," she announces, putting every amount of bravado she can muster into her tone. "Do you want some?"

The Doctor seems to break out of his reverie and clears his throat, nodding. "Yes," he tries, but his voice breaks a little and her bravado seems to melt away - she just wants to comfort him. "Yes," he says more clearly, and just like that, she knows that she can't - she wouldn't be enough.

So she walks out of the room and leaves him alone, again.

* * *

The second sign is less obvious, but still there.

Because whenever he looks around, he looks at his eye level before he realises that she's about a head and a half shorter than him and very extremely not that tall. And when he doesn't find anyone as tall as him around, and realises that it's just _her, _just Clara, his eyes become sad for a moment before they light up again.

She knows that it shouldn't bother her, but it's just _that look _in his eyes that makes her want to fidget. She knows that she's with him because he wants her to be there and because she's one of a kind to him. There's another look in his eyes that tells her that. But she knows that if he could, if there was an impossible miracle, he wishes that she wouldn't have to be with him because he would already have someone else.

But then he meets her eyes and smiles a bright smile at her, and she can't help but smile back because he is weirdly handsome, and ridiculously childish, and absolutely everything she cringes at and everything she wants to be. And she knows that in this moment, he's content to be with her.

* * *

The third sign's quite obvious. It starts off with "Come along -" and ends with "- Pond - oh."

And then he looks sad and refuses to meet her eyes during their whole adventure together. He tries it once with her, tries to say, "Come along, Clara!" but realises that it doesn't have the same ring to it and refuses to look at her again until they return to the TARDIS.

She's absolutely perplexed by it, and when Clara Oswin Oswald is perplexed, she gets to the bottom of it.

So she tries it on him. During one of their adventures, when he's too stubborn to run because he wants to _talk _to the monster, she just grabs his hand and shouts, "Come along, Doctor!"

The effect on him is enormous.

He snatches his hand away from hers and glances at her with wide eyes and an open mouth, looking at her disbelievingly. "Clara," he says, somewhat disapprovingly, and immediately she feels disappointed in herself, even when he grabs her hand again and pulls her along when they have to run. And when they finally reach the TARDIS, he lets go again and refuses to meet her eyes, _yet again. _

"I'm sorry," she says after a while of watching him fiddle with the controls. His body stills and she almost feels frightened of him - this man who's such a child but scary at the same time - but when he turns his soft expression shocks her.

"You shouldn't have to apologise for that, Clara," he tells her gently, "I should."

She doesn't know if he's talking about the incident earlier or about something else, but then he's off again, jabbering about planets and stars she can't pronounce and the moment passes before she can even open her mouth.

* * *

She's reading her a book when he slips again.

This time she's curled up on one of the seats in the control room, her hair like curtains in front of her face. The Doctor is spinning around like a mad man, telling her about where they're going to next _("I think we should go to a new planet, or - travel back in time? Do you want to see Hitler? I met him once, but then a friend punched him in the face - um, I, uh - Clara!") _and she's not listening because she's engrossed in her book. So engrossed, in fact, that the Doctor has the _nerve _to _take the book out of her hands_.

"What are you reading?" he asks, sounding excited as she tries to make a grab for the book. "A good book? I love a good book, me. Oh, _Summer Falls! _Can't say I've read that one before, who's it by? Ame - oh."

His face suddenly darkens and there's that sad look in his eyes again - the same look _every time. _Clara takes the opportunity to snatch the book out of his hands and this time, he doesn't even oppose. He just stands there limply, staring into space with that same look in his eyes. "Amelia Williams," she finishes for him, and he immediately snaps his neck back to look at her, eyes wide. She clutches the book to her chest tightly. "I've loved this book since I was eleven," she murmurs, smiling to herself. "She's a great writer."

He takes a while to respond, but when he does, he smiles. "Yes," he says, almost to himself, "she's a magnificent writer."

Later that day, when she's sitting in her room finishing the last few pages of the book (she's somewhat memorised it already, but _still_), he knocks and peeks his head in.

"Clara?" he asks, clearing his throat and fidgeting a little. "Uh, is it okay if I borrow your book?"

She raises her eyebrows; he'd claimed to have the most vast library in the TARDIS, complete with every version of every book ever printed. "Doesn't the TARDIS have it?" she inquires, finishing off the last few words.

"No." He doesn't offer any explanation of anything, and doesn't look like he's going to say anything more, so she sighs.

"Well, come in then," she relents, and he walks into her room and plops down on an armchair next to her bed. She twists the book in her hands, eyeing him carefully. "This book is precious to me," she tells him, "my mum gave her copy to me. It runs down in our family, and if you misplace it like you misplaced your sonic I'll never forgive you."

The Doctor looks at her solemnly, with a look of pure honesty in his eyes. "I'll never misplace something written by _Amelia Williams,_" he says quietly, and his eyes dart back to look at the book. "It's too precious."

She looks at him curiously, but hands him the book, which he takes carefully in his hands. He almost caresses it, stroking the engraving of _Amelia Williams _tenderly. "Do you know her?" she asks, somewhat surprised.

He freezes a little, and doesn't meet her eyes. "I did," he says so quietly that if she weren't sitting so close to him she wouldn't have heard him.

A childish giggle escapes her lips and she grins at him with wide eyes. "You know her?" she repeats excitedly. "You know _Amelia Williams? _Can we see her? Can _I _meet her?"

He gives her a dark look and she thinks that he's about to shout at her, but then his eyes soften and he slumps back in the chair, the exhaustion of everything clear in his expression. "I lost her," he says finally, unable to meet her eyes.

Clara stays quiet and expects him to leave, but he doesn't move. He doesn't talk, he doesn't shift, he doesn't take his eyes off the book, and after a while, it's Clara who leaves the room.

* * *

By the time he gives her the fifth sign, she's already put some pieces together.

She's heard from lots that the Doctor had travelled with many different companions (she thinks it should bother her, but it doesn't - he's just _so _lonely.) He used to travel with Amelia Williams. The glasses must have belonged to her, and she must have been with him for a long time for him to miss her so. She was probably quite tall, maybe about as tall as him. And he misses her so much.

But what she doesn't know, is how he lost her. And because Amelia Williams had never included any short biography in a section of her book, or had come up blank on Wikipedia, the curiosity is too much.

One day, they're both in the control room and he's fixing a glitch. She's sitting on the edge of the top floor, legs hanging off the edge, wearing a mini skirt for the first time and he slips.

"Amy? Amelia?" he calls out, wearing some odd goggles. "Did you steal my bowtie again? Give them back - bowties are cool!" Clara doesn't answer, but stops swinging her legs around, feeling a pit of anguish and pity for this man. "Amy, stop ignoring me," he says, and his voice is coming closer to where she's sitting before he pops his head out from underneath the console. "I know you stole it - Clara?" He blinks, seeming confused, before realisation dawns in him and he covers his mouth quickly. "I'm sorry, Clara," he apologises gruffly, turning away abruptly and walking back to the glitch, crouching by it and shielding his face from her.

She almost wants to cry.

There's silence that stretches on for a long while. It's not necessarily awkward, but not content, either - it's tense. Yes, that's the word: tense. And because it's so tense, Clara simply _needs _to break it. Her curiosity is driving her up the wall and even though he grieves, she finds that she can't stand not knowing anymore.

"She was really close to you, wasn't she?"

She doesn't expect for the words to come tumbling out of her mouth _like that; _she'd wanted to probe him gently and subtly get the story out of him. But she hears him sigh as if he were expecting her to ask, and there's a soft clatter as the wrench in his hands drops to the ground. She hears some odd shifting here and there and then he's climbing up the stairs and walking to her, letting out a soft grunt as he sits himself down next to her. He doesn't look at her, simply fumbling with his hands for a bit and she doesn't push him. Finally, he nods slightly. "Yes, I'm close to her. Was."

Clara simply stares at him, unsure how to act. She's seen him angry, happy, anguished, scared and in shock, but she's never seen him like this - so lost. Hesitantly, she reaches out to place a hand on top of his, making his fumbling fingers still. "I'm sorry," she tells him softly, and he lifts his head ever so slightly to look at her. His eyes are soft, and a little crinkly at the corners - but so old and full of loss. His lips curl into a slight smile before it's gone again and he's looking back down at their hands. And she doesn't want him to stop talking, so she asks quickly, "What's she like? The great Amelia Williams."

He lets out a chuckle - a deep, throaty sound escaping the back of his throat and sending rumbles through his body - and his lips curl upwards again. "Amelia Williams," he muses, shaking his head. "She hated being called Amelia Williams. Always never wanting to be tied down."

Clara can't help but be a little surprised - she _had _read these books for a long part of her life, anyway. Knowing that Amelia Williams _didn't like _being called Amelia Williams came as a bit of a shock to her. "So that's not her name?" she asks interestedly, probing without meaning to.

The Doctor doesn't seem to mind, though, and shakes his head. "Her first name's Amelia, of course, but changed her surname when she got married. Married too soon," he muttered under his breath, a hint of bitterness in his tone which Clara can't seem to forget. "Before she was Amelia Williams she was Amy Pond. And before that, Amelia Pond." He laughs fondly, seeming to remember a memory that she cannot see. "Like a name in a fairytale," he reminisces, properly smiling now.

She simply nods in agreement. "I do like Amelia Pond better than Amelia Williams," she comments, "it fits nicely."

"It does, doesn't it?" he agrees, bowing his head again. "She didn't like _that_ either, though - though I guess it's partly my fault. Always wanted me to call her Amy."

Clara raises an eyebrow at it being 'partly his fault', waiting for him to elaborate.

It takes him a while to answer, but he stays like that, ducking his head. She almost thinks that he wants to be left alone with his memories, but before she can get up and leave him he's talking again. "I met her when she was seven. Crashed into her garden in a new regeneration. _The first face this face saw_." He looks up to the ceiling of the TARDIS, smiling softly. "Everything was brand new. Even the TARDIS - though it's changed since. She's lost her fire when she lost her redhead," he says sadly.

She doesn't know what else to say, so simply repeats, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he answers automatically, looking at her and shaking his head vigorously. "Never be sorry for that. _I_ should be sorry for that. If I hadn't taken them to New York..." he trails off, shutting his eyes tightly. As if the memory is too painful to share.

And though Clara knows she should leave him by now, should apologise for prying and get on with another book, she also knows that even Time Lords are not that different from humans. Even Time Lords need to speak their minds sometimes. So she simply asks softly, "She travelled with you for quite a long time, yeah?"

His head snaps up at that, and he stares at her unabashedly, eyes wide. "Yeah..." he nods, before snapping out of it and shaking his head once more. She frowns and wonders what's going on in his mind, but before she can ask he's talking again. "Three hundred years for me, ten years for her. On and off."

This time her eyes widen. "Three hundred years?" she repeats disbelievingly, to which he nods.

"I couldn't let her go," he says bitterly, shaking his head. "Stupid Doctor," he mutters to himself. "She was my best friend, the girl who waited. Little Amelia Pond, the girl who waited for me," he says sadly, as if he were disappointed in himself. "I left her with a promise of coming back after five minutes. When I came back, she'd already grown into a woman. Beautiful, magnificent Amy Pond."

There's a hint of sentiment in his tone, and she wonders just how close Amy Pond and the Doctor were.

"She yelled at me and followed me and was so _strong, so brave_ - and then she waited another two years for me when I left again with the intent of coming right back. And then she ran away with me on the night of her wedding." He seems to have to stop there, because he swallows and shuts his eyes tightly. "I stole her away, the TARDIS and I. Took her on adventures she'd only ever dreamed of for her whole life. And then -" his voice breaks off, "- and her fiancé comes into the picture." His voice trails off and there's an unspoken thought in his mind, a thought she can guess. _And then he lost her - not physically, but he might as well have_.

"They went on adventures with me after their wedding," he continues, shuffling his feet together. "We travelled the word, saved lives, saved her daughter. I got married and she watched without saying a word. And then the universe went back to normal and I picked them up again and we had the time of our lives - until New York. Until they _took her _-" he spits viciously, making Clara flinch, "- away from me forever." His eyes are burning and his expression is one of hatred, and Clara's almost scared of him now. She stares at him with wide eyes until he notices her expression and immediately sobers.

"I'm sorry," he apologises, voice cracking on the third syllable. And then he looks like the time before he realised that he was to die, and her expression softens ever so slightly. Not even _then_ - their unspoken trip to Trenzalore - did he look so hopeless and alone. She almost thinks he's about to cry before he runs a hand through his hair, plastering his fringe to his head.

And it all clicks. The sentiment, keeping her glasses, the bitterness of mentioning her husband and his wedding as she watched, doing nothing to stop him. How Amy Pond stole both his hearts and never let go without even realising it, even until now. Yes, Clara might have feelings towards the Time Lord. Yes, she might have acted on them in aborted timelines. But he's never returned them - and this is why.

"You loved her," she realises, and his dark eyes only confirm her thoughts.

He doesn't look at her, and she wonders what he's thinking. She wonders if he's remembering the look of his last love, her face and her scent and her laugh. She wonders if he closes his eyes and sees Amy Pond in his dreams. She wonders if he's remembering nights of passion between the two - if there were any - and the feel of her lips against his. She wonders if Amy Pond had returned his feelings even as she was married to another man.

"Yes," he answers shortly, before standing up and finally walking away into one of the corridors of the TARDIS. And that's when Clara knows, for certain. Amy Pond might have stolen his hearts, and she might have _known _she had - but she didn't return the Doctor's feelings. And that's what caused him to lose her - because for _once_, she didn't choose him. She chose someone else over him, and that shattered him completely.

Amy Pond is and was the reason of his detachment, and Clara knows, that for this regeneration, Amy Pond was his world. And nothing Clara says or does can change that.

For this regeneration, she doesn't belong with him; Amy does. Should have. Could have. Would have.

But didn't - _and_, Clara sighs as she gets up and leans against the railing, _that's the tragedy of unrequited love._


End file.
